He had recovered himself in time and had told me no secret. But he had been surprised to find that I considered any relation of his to Jenny's place and property as a mere speculation--no more than the illustration to an argument. Then he must consider it as more than that himself. But then how could he--he, the ostracized? Yet there was the secret treaty, whose terms availed to keep him quiet--quiet and at Hatcham Ford. There were a lover's obstinate hopes. And--the thought flashed into my mind--had he any knowledge of Fillingford's frequent calls or of the dexterous management of Lacey? It was probable that he knew as little of them as Fillingford knew of the mysterious treaty. Suddenly he started a new topic; between it and the previous one there seemed no connection--unless Jenny were the link. "I say, that's a rum fish--my new neighbor Nelson Powers!" "You've made acquaintance? You haven't been long about it!" "He smokes his pipe, leaning over his garden fence; I smoke mine, leaning over my gate. Hence the acquaintance." "Of course; you're always so affable, so accessible to strangers." He dropped his scarcely serious pretense of having made Powers's acquaintance casually. "Miss Driver told me something about him. We've been in communication about this house and the Institute, you know." "Did she tell you anything interesting about him?" "Only that he'd been a humble friend in days gone by. You're looking rather sour, Austin. Don't you like Mr. Nelson Powers?" "He's not one of my particular fancies," I admitted. "Miss Driver says he's devoted to her." "He's in debt to her, anyhow, I expect--and perhaps that'll do as well." "Perhaps." He was speaking now in a ruminative way--as though he were comparing in his mind Jenny's account of Powers, my opinion of Powers, and his own impression of the man. He seemed to me to give more thought to Powers than I should have expected from him; a rude and contemptuous dismissal would have been Powers's more probable fate at his hands. "Are you going to clear out for the Institute?" I asked. "I shall be out of this house in less than a year, anyhow. That's settled." "Oh, then your negotiations have been very satisfactory! You had a right to stay here two years." "The present state of affairs can't drag on for two years," he said, looking at me steadily. His ostensible reference might be to his uncomfortable relations toward his neighbors; I was sure that he meant more than that--and did not mind letting me see it. A restlessness betrayed itself in his movements; he seemed to be on the edge of an outbreak and to hold himself back with a struggle. His victory was very imperfect: he could not keep off the subject which perturbed him; he could only contrive to treat it with a show of lightness and contempt. The subject had been in my thoughts already. "Seeing much of our friend Fillingford just now at the Priory?" "He comes a certain amount. I don't see much of him."